


Middle Of The Night Phone Calls

by Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer



Series: Comfortember 2020 [6]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Caring Greg House (House M.D.), Comfort Food, Comfortember 2020, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Greg House and James Wilson Being in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Poor James Wilson (House M.D.), Pre-Relationship, nightmare aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27426139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer/pseuds/Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer
Summary: "I don't wanna sleep," Wilson finally whispers into the phone, and it clicks a little too fast. He remembers that one night, which feels so far away now, when Wilson was staying with him. When he'd woken up screaming, in tears from a nightmare he hadn't spoken of afterwards.
Relationships: Greg House/James Wilson
Series: Comfortember 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995943
Comments: 2
Kudos: 69
Collections: Comfortember 2020





	Middle Of The Night Phone Calls

**Author's Note:**

> Day 6 of comfortember, 'Afraid To Sleep'

House's phone buzzes on his nightstand, then starts playing Wilson's ringtone.

At first, he can't help but muffle out a groan into his pillow. He doesn't know what time it is, but he knows he zoned out for a few hours scrolling through his laptop until he felt tired enough to sleep, and by that time it had been well past midnight. He doesn't know how long he'd been laying here in bed, listening to the sound of his own breathing, the sleep he craves taunting him every now and again with the promise of drifting off - only to rip him right back to his senses in the next second, unable to completely succumb to the peaceful darkness threatening to consume him. In a way he almost doesn't want to sleep now, because he knows he has to get up in at least a few hours to start his usual daytime routine. Just because he doesn't come into work early doesn't mean he doesn't wake up early - he does, and he takes the time, while he's awake, to make sure his leg won't bother him too much for the rest of the day. But considering he already knows he's going to sleep in, and recognizing Wilson's ringtone through the haze of exhaustion he's trapped in, he eventually relents and heaves himself up to grab the phone.

Rolling onto his back, he stares at the time for a moment. _4:05._ Wilson never calls him in the middle of the night, at least never past 2:00 or 3:00. Something settles in the pit of his stomach, something like dread, as he answers the call and presses the phone to his ear. He can already feel the cramp forming in his leg simply from moving after being so still for so long; his other hand reaches down instinctively to see if he can rub the pain away, but it does little to relieve it. "Wilson?" He grumbles into the phone, voice hoarse from the tiredness plaguing him, drowsy and hazy and too tired to mask most of his concern. He doesn't voice these concerns, though - hell, he makes a point of not voicing them. "The hell are _you_ calling me at four AM for?"

His words, despite the harsh tone, clearly relay what he wants to say. _You never call me this early. You never call me this_ _ **late.**_ _So the fact that you're doing so now concerns me._ He runs his tongue over his lips, wetting them a little, and manages to push himself into a half-sitting position. It takes him a moment to realize Wilson hasn't said anything yet, and even longer to register the heavy breathing on the other line. The dread in his stomach quickly turns cold with fear, briefly stealing his breath away. "Wilson?" He presses again, furrowing his eyebrows.

"I'm sorry," Wilson gasps, and he sounds like he's been crying, voice choked with tears and strained with every failed effort to hold it steady. House is still too tired to be able to rationalize the fear that twists in his gut when he hears that, but he's steadily waking up with each passing second, and with every word Wilson says. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you- I just, I didn't know who else to call and I…" He trails off; House can practically hear his breathing shudder, and everything becomes muffled for a moment, as if he's covering the mouthpiece of his phone. The diagnostician frowns, forcing himself not to speak until he starts thinking rationally again, until he can sort out the conflict in his mind and calmly handle the situation he has here. Wilson's clearly not in any imminent danger, which calms the fear a little, but he's still worried.

"I don't wanna sleep," Wilson finally whispers into the phone, and it clicks a little too fast. He remembers that one night, which feels so far away now, when Wilson was staying with him. When he'd woken up screaming, in tears from a nightmare he hadn't spoken of afterwards.

He's still too tired to piece together the implications of Wilson having a nightmare that bad again, or the fact that this is happening now halfway through the same month it had happened before those few years ago. He's silent for a moment, rubbing his thumb over his forehead as he struggles to think. He's not irritated, not with Wilson. Mostly he's just frustrated by his apparent inability to sleep tonight, and he can't really be upset with Wilson since the man hadn't woken him up in the first place (not that it'd be easy to be mad at him right now anyway, when he's already in tears). That being said, he's not used to this; usually it's him who calls Wilson in the middle of the night, though he's never called him crying and afraid to sleep before.

For a moment, House struggles to think of what Wilson would do in this situation. He can only come up with a few options that wouldn't completely let in on the fact that he's worried about him. Wilson knows he cares, House doesn't need to perform any grand gestures or jump through any hoops just to tell him. Except now he feels like he does, he feels like he has to do something Wilson would do in this situation, something to be at least somewhat comforting, after all the times his best friend had been there for him. But it's also not completely out of any real obligation; he can't sleep, Wilson doesn't want to sleep, and House honestly wants him nearby now after this so he can properly assess the condition he's in. It doesn't have to be anything too sweet or fuzzy, and they don't have to snuggle up to one another and swap nightmare stories. Wilson just needs a bit of comfort, which House can offer in person without having to say a word, without having to acknowledge the fact that he's doing something nice.

"Get your ass over here," he finally sighs.

Wilson's stifled sob of relief doesn't go unnoticed.

* * *

When he does arrive, he's not as much of a wreck as he had sounded like over the phone. By then House has set up a few things for them in the living room; some beers on the table, snacks and popcorn, and pillows and blankets since they'd be spending the night on the couch, likely watching TV since House doubts Wilson was going to want to talk about anything right then. He opens the door when Wilson knocks, having already been up on his feet and waiting, and arches an eyebrow at his friend before he turns and limps over to the couch to plop down.

Wilson follows a little slower, shutting the door and shuffling over. He eyes the set-up House has made curiously, and House feels like he's won something when his lips twitch in a faint smile.

He smirks invitingly at his friend, and Wilson settles into the couch beside him with only a cushion and a few pillows between them to separate them. Then he leans forward and swipes up two of the beers on the coffee table while House plucks the remote off of the arm of the couch; Wilson stays silent for a while, twisting the cap off of one of the bottles and handing the other over to House, who takes it without taking his eyes off of the TV screen. Neither of them say a word, and they probably won't until later, when they're both settled, drunk and comfy.

For now, Wilson is smiling despite the exhaustion in his eyes, and House is content despite his own lack of sleep. He's got Wilson beside him which is more than enough for him for now, and when Wilson finally relaxes at his side, the tension draining as he slumps back against the couch after only a few swallows of the beer in his hand, House knows he's not the only one.

By the time both beers had been drunk, half the snacks were devoured and they were coddled up in blankets and finishing off an episode of Law & Order, House looks over to see Wilson is asleep. He has his head resting back against the back of the couch, his mouth half-open and the empty bottle held to his chest with loose, drooping fingers. House can't help but stare for a moment, knowing that position is going to be a _bitch_ for the poor guy when he wakes up, but he can't bring himself to move him. He does, however, take the beer from him, prying it from his fingers - which isn't a hard task - and setting both empty bottles on the floor at their feet. Then he turns his attention back to the TV with no intention of retreating to his room for the night, and not really intending to fall asleep at the moment either. It's too late - too early, really - for that.

But he lets Wilson sleep, and his best friend is nightmare-free for the rest of the night.


End file.
